After I finished dressing I did the checkout bit and beat a hasty retreat toward San Antonio. On the way back, via IH-10, my hands gripped the steering wheel so hard my knuckles hurt. But when I wasn’t holding onto something, both hands shook so bad I looked like I was suffering from some sort of palsy.
Note to self: for the love of all that’s holy, don’t go on a Hunt by yourself again.
Second note to self: have a little sense, Torrance. If you must go by yourself, at least don’t go on a Hunt in a strange place.
Third note: ask my father if any reports of rape had occurred after the last full moon. I’d never heard of any, but that didn’t mean anything. The older I got the more I realized that we were all living in a bubble with information spoon fed to us. I was one of the lucky ones. By being appointed to the Council I knew stuff that most Weres didn’t.
It began to drizzle, the droplets getting bigger as I headed east into San Antonio.
I swear, I didn’t know what the problem was with rain and San Antonio drivers. It was like the rain activated a secret signal in the minds of half the population. They decided to speed on overpasses made slick by the combination of rain and motor oil. Or they wanted to ride in your trunk. Whatever it was, it resulted in hundreds of accidents during every downpour. Tonight looked to be no exception. Despite being after midnight, traffic was abysmal, further slowed by two accidents on the way home. A good thing we didn’t get rain like Seattle.
I kept checking the rear view mirror as if I expected something to rise up from the back seat. Way to creep yourself out, Torrance. All I saw were the reflections of dozens of car headlights and my own face.
My eyes were a plain old blue. My hair was black and my complexion was now as pale as a vampire’s. I looked like I’d just gotten the scare of my life, which was the truth.
I wished I could magically teleport myself home. What good was being Pranic if I couldn’t do some of the things Mark could do? I was strong, but that was about it. I couldn’t read minds and I couldn’t levitate objects.
Oh, but after tonight, I could have hallucinations.
I’d heard the words undifferentiated side effects during the consultations before I’d been given before the transfusion. In other words, I might grow an extra ear, or a big toe on my forehead. I’d been willing to take that chance, but I hadn’t counted on hallucinations.
I tried to remember if anyone had said: you’re going to see some weird stuff, Torrance and it will blow your mind. Nope, I’d missed that part of the lecture.
Finally, I made the turnoff to my house.
I liked living at Graystone because it connected me to my grandmother. She’d been my closest friend and the one person on earth who understood me.
“It’s because you two are so much alike,” my father said to me once. I’d been going through one of my rebellious stages and hadn’t wanted to hear anything he had to say.
I haven’t asked him what he meant even years later. I didn’t want to get a lecture on respecting my elders, or worse, hear his complaints about his mother. He’d never spoken much about her and that was a dead giveaway. I knew when to let sleeping wolves lie.
When my grandmother died, I’d been surprised to learn that I’d inherited her fortune along with Graystone. I think my father expected me, like a good little female Were, to turn over my inheritance for him to manage. I didn’t. Instead, I used it to finance my education, including vet school.
I’d lived among civilians for so long that I could sometimes forget I was Were. After a while, though, I got homesick. I missed being around my family. Even more, I missed feeling safe. Trying to pretend you’re something you’re not a hundred percent of the time was tiring.
Still, being away for so long made me more independent than most female Weres. I didn’t even try to blend in now. My fellow Weres were going to have to take me as I was, warts and all. Or Pranic blood and all.
I didn't use the circular approach to the house at night, but took the service road to the rear, the same one Simon and Wilson used every day. Simon was the caretaker who made sure everything worked and Wilson was the gardener who ensured Graystone wasn't overcome by nature itself.
Neither man lived at Graystone.
Wilson had his own up-and-coming landscape company and was getting a reputation for being creative, businesslike, and responsible. He showed up when he said he would and did what I asked. From my limited experience with gardening people, that was a rare combination.
Simon was a genius at doing just about everything. He’d been the manager of a large home improvement store but had tired of the corporate life. He’d started part-time last year and still took other odd jobs from time to time, but only for established clients. Otherwise, he worked for me full time. Graystone needed the attention. I was determined to get it back to its original glory and maybe more with my plans for a rose garden, greenhouse, and maybe a pool in the back lawn.
Picture Notre Dame in Paris, without the stained-glass window and the buttresses, and you’d have a good approximation of Graystone. Add in broad front steps, iron studded oak double doors at the top, and statues perched along the roof edge.
The main approach to the house was through a mini forest that grew wilder every year and had to be constantly pruned. In front of the house was a wide circle planted to look like a sunflower with yellow and brown flowers. Since it was July, everything looked a little heat faded, but tonight’s storm would perk them up. We didn’t experience autumn temperatures in South Texas until around December and that only lasted a week or so.
I loved Graystone, had always loved the house. It never failed to spark a memory of my grandmother in me. Most of my memories were tinged with joy or laughter. Even those serious time were important. I respected and admired my grandmother and had wanted to be just like her.
I couldn’t help but wonder if she would have entered the lottery. If she’d won would she have gone along with the transfusion? I thought she might have. She, too, was a rebel.
Graystone was as much an embodiment of her personality as a paean to the Celtic Clan. My grandfather had documented the clan’s warrior history in two rooms. The Clan Hall was wallpapered in a tartan of red, green, and gold weave, evidently something tied to our heritage. Battle flags and pennants were encased behind glass shadow boxes and one particularly gruesome display held a laird’s tattered and bloodstained shirt. Another room, called the Armory, housed a collection of authentic medieval Scottish weapons.
When I was living in Austin I’d leased Graystone to a civilian couple who had no idea that the house had been built by a family of Weres. The estate agent had showed them the two rooms, but asked that they keep them locked. I know, for a fact, that they hadn’t adhered to those rules. I suspect that they’d also showed off Graystone’s secrets to a number of their friends. Thankfully, there’d been nothing in either room to reveal that our ancestors had been Scottish Furries.
My grandfather had evidently been a canny man and had created a special hiding place for other weapons — the ones that weren’t medieval or Scottish. My grandmother had done her part by purchasing some dangerous looking firepower. Her adage? Prepare for anything. Trust me, I was prepared.
What some people didn’t know wouldn’t worry them.
That’s the one thing about the world learning about Weres that concerned me. How did we convince civilians that we offered them no harm? That we’d lived among them since the beginning of time and had never done one thing to harm them? Nor were we about to start.
Being able to live freely among humans would mean that we could create our own laws as well as a legal system that would be recognized by civilians. We wouldn't have to hide any longer or live in a constant state of fear. That, alone, was incentive enough to come forward.
The whole thing was way above my pay grade and I was grateful for that. It would fall to men like my father to iron out the details and decide when and how Weres made ourselves known.
I could hear the dogs as I neared the kitchen. I parked the car in one of the spaces by the back door. The garage was across the yard and I didn't feel like schlepping through the mud and the rain.
The dogs were in their enclosed porch where I put them when I had to leave the house. It was climate controlled with a view of the expansive back yard and an entrance to their outside run, fenced in for their protection.
All three of them began to bark hysterically as I got out of the car and ran for the house. I didn’t even get a chance to close the door before they made a beeline for me.
It wasn't just that I was the Keeper of the Kibble, I was the Giver of the Cuddles and their rescuer. Actually, I hadn't saved them. I’d been getting my transfusion when Dorothy, one of my clients at the clinic, found the three dogs.
Pepper was the Chihuahua and schnauzer mix. Dalton was the yellow lab with hints of something else, and Cherry Pip was the true mutt. She looked like a border collie had mated with a corgi. She was short, too plump, but had the coloring and smarts of a border collie. Dorothy had named all three dogs, but I’d never gotten a straight answer out of her as to what Cherry Pip meant.
I hadn't been prepared for three dogs when I came home from the transfusion. In fact, I hadn't even heard them the first night. The next day, after all the tumult and shenanigans at the River Parade, I’d opened my bedroom door and there they were, all three of them, each looking up at me expectantly.
"Sorry, Torrance," Simon said, bounding up the stairs. "I didn't mean to let them in."
I came out into the hall, glad that I was wearing my old ratty bathrobe, the white terrycloth one that fell to the floor. It had been through the wars, but that morning I’d felt the same way.
To my great disappointment, Mark hadn't come into the house the night before even after I’d invited him. Instead, we’d made out like teenagers in the front seat of his car until the windows fogged up. Then he escorted me to the door, kissed me on the forehead, and left.
“So these are the three strays Dorothy picked up,” I said, sitting on the bench in the hall.
Simon nodded. “Let me put them in the yard, Torrance,” he said, beginning to shoo the dogs down the stairs.
“Let them stay,” I said.
I felt my heart open just a little bit. As a vet I loved animals, but I’d delayed getting myself a pet for the longest time. There were a couple of reasons for that, not the least of which was my schedule. But these three were true rescues, saved from the Animal Control Facility that would euthanize them after three days. Most strays don’t find a home in that time.
I held out my hand, wondering if they could smell that I was different from other humans.
Cats evidently can and they don't greet me with a great deal of warmth, love, and affection. Instead, they sit back on their haunches and hiss.
Can I tell you how often I’ve heard a variation on this theme?
"I swear, Dr. Boyd, I don't know what's gotten into Betty. She never acts like that with anyone. Maybe it's because she knows you're a vet."
No, it's because Betty knew I was a Were and got hairy from time to time.
All three dogs sniffed me and then licked my hand.
Simon didn't know what I was and it looked as if the three dogs didn't either. Or they didn’t care. That was the beginning of a group love affair.
Now the Brood was registering their displeasure at my absence. I’d fed them before I left for the hotel, so they weren’t starving. They were just in need of a little affection.
I bent down and managed to pet all three of them at the same time, getting wet fingers from all the licks.
I’d spent the past months training them in basic etiquette. They no longer jumped up to welcome me. Nor did they throw themselves at the door like they had in their first days at Graystone.
Instead of using the doghouses Simon had built, I had him finish off the back porch, creating a climate controlled oasis for them. Their crates were out here in case they wanted their own space during the day, along with soft rugs and an assortment of toys. At night they followed me around the house, giving me orders, and genuinely being vocal companions.
I went into the kitchen with the Brood following. The first thing I did was close the curtains over the sink. I was still weirded out by what had happened in Kerrville. I’d been an idiot to go on the Hunt by myself. If I'd been surrounded by people I knew, I could have screamed and someone would have come to my aid in minutes. Instead, I’d been alone.
Here at Graystone I was on my own, too, but I had the Brood, even though Pepper sometimes spooked me out. He had a habit of going into the dining room, sitting about five feet from an empty corner and barking as if he saw something there. I’d already informed him numerous times that I didn't do ghosts, thank you very much, and that even if he saw something I’d appreciate it if he’d keep it to himself.
I opened the refrigerator, paradoxically grateful that I was out of ice cream and wishing I had some.
I loved oatmeal cookies with raisins for a snack, but I didn't keep raisins in the house after the dogs arrived. Or grapes for that matter, both of which were poisonous to them. Even chocolate was on my no buy list, but there were times when I stopped at a convenience store and got a candy bar. No one had to know.
"Well, what do you think? I've got stuff for a sandwich.”
They all whined in appreciation, but they weren’t going to get any people food. I was a stickler about their diets. I don't know what they’d eaten when they were on the streets, probably anything they could find, but in the first month at Graystone I’d frankly overfed them. Cherry Pip was now borderline obese and was on a special diet dog food. Dalton was his correct weight but that's because he expended lots of energy doing a frenetic back-and-forth in the dog run. It was like he was looking for gaps in the fence, anything that might allow a stranger to enter.
Pepper, who had been named by Dorothy because of his black-and-white and almost brindle like ruff, was a ball of energy. He didn't have a weight problem either.
I looked at Cherry Pip and sighed. "I don't need anything, do I?"
I certainly didn't need a glass of wine. Or a quick and dirty margarita. I settled for a decaf cup of coffee with a little fake brown sugar and a splash of cream. Do I know how to live or what?
Dalton let out a bark and I nearly spilled my coffee. He never barked inside the house. The porch was a different matter. He made sure that every squirrel, bird, gopher, leaf, or airplane knew that he was there and guarding Graystone.
I dared myself to leave the kitchen and enter the darkened porch. I stared out at the expanse of yard. The rain had eased for the moment and the fast moving clouds revealed the full moon once more. Graystone had acres of land around it. It was the largest private home in our little city within San Antonio. Right now I was wishing it was smaller.
The wind had picked up, a sign that we weren’t done with the storm. It careened around the back of Graystone, whining as if it wanted in. I shivered and sipped at my coffee, wishing I could shake off the feeling I had.
There was nothing strange in my yard. No Weres with odd heads. Nothing was out of place. I was just on edge.
I looked down at the Brood.
“Have you all gone potty?"
They knew the drill. We were all pretty much settled in our three month old routines. I could swear each of them nodded slightly. At least that's what I wanted to see.
I headed for the back stairs, turning on lights and turning them off as I went. I was still a little spooked, plus I got a feeling of suffocation when I was in a blackened room, something that was relatively new. I couldn’t remember being afraid of the dark before. It dated from my transfusion, one of those weird side effects I’d been warned to expect.
Had the hallucinations been another side effect? I had no idea, but I wasn’t willing to experience another one right at the moment.
I made quick work of my shower, disappointing the Brood as I did every time by locking them out of the bathroom. I also didn't sleep with my dogs. They each maintained a post on three sides of the bed. Despite the fact that Pepper was definitely the alpha dog, Dalton insisted on sleeping closer to me than the other two.
I crawled into bed, hearing thunder again and wondering if the storm was going to continue all night. Instead of feeling cozy as I slipped beneath the covers and despite the presence of the Brood, I felt isolated and alone, almost as if I were still running by myself in Kerrville.